Toy Collection #10

It has been awhile since I wrote a toy collection report. I was doing them pretty regularly for some months, and then I guess I got distracted. It wasn't like I'd run out of toys to talk about -- not even close. Anyway, maybe it's time to return to "our regularly scheduled programming."

Floggers. I think, that when I got started into exploring BDSM, and before I really knew anything much at all, the whole idea of floggers was perhaps one of the scarier things on the horizon. What I thought I knew about floggers came from historical accounts of slavery in the United States, and accounts of maritime justice, and it was pretty intimidating. In my mind, flogging was about blood and torn flesh and horrible shame and extremely harsh punishment. It was not something that I was inclined, in those days, to see as erotic.

So, in a sense, it seems odd that one of the very first things that we explored together, at that very first face to face meeting at Ohio Leather Fest, was floggers. I learned, then, that a flogger was simply a short whip with a number of tails or falls, and that the intensity that might be experienced during a flogging was widely variable depending on both the construction of the flogger, and the intent and skill of the Top.

Today, in our collection there are a variety of these short whips. This post will deal with the ones that are simple, straightforward, leather floggers. Master likes to do two-handed flogging. That isn't the very elaborate, and showy, florentine style that some employ, but a much more prosaic style that lands a rapid fire volley of strikes. Two-handed flogging is more intense for the bottom, and more physically demanding for the Top. In order to accomodate that prefrerence, we have two matched sets of floggers; a pair of suede floggers, and a pair of buffalo hide floggers. We also have a single flogger made from the very stiff and very intense leather known as latigo. All five were purchased from DeTails Toys, and are lovely pieces of leather worksmanship.

Floggers can be manufactured from almost anything, and we have some rubber floggers that I'll get to in another post. I've seen people make floggers from a wide variety of materials -- everything from boot laces to licorice whips. I've experienced some very sensuous floggers: deerskin floggers -- very light and soft; and elkhide floggers -- heavier than deer, but incredibly soft and sensuous with the most overwhelmingly lovely leather scent. Those went away with the former husband, but I imagine that even if we'd kept them, Himself would find very little reason to use them. They are the quintessential "service top" implements, and hardly the sort of thing that a sadist would get excited about.

The lightest floggers in our collection are suede. Suede floggers are great scene toys. They make an impressive slapping sound when they land, and a bottom with a flair for the dramatic can make an uninitiated observer believe that she is being hideously beaten. I find suede floggers abrasive, and sometimes "sharp" at the edges and tips of the falls. Depending on the condition of my skin, those sharp places can leave me with a sort of very mottled buising. They have very little in the way of sting, and are generally light weight enough that the thud is more like an intense and choppy sort of massage. Like most floggers with fairly wide, flat falls, suede floggers can whip up a significant breeze, and I often have to concentrate to avoid becoming obsessed by the wind tunnel effect.

Personally, I like buffalo-hide floggers. Buffalo has a weight that is impressive, but the leather itself is soft and supple without any of the roughness that suede has. It is possible to create some sting with buffalo, but the predominant sensation is going to be thud. Buffalo lands heavy. The other thing about buffalo, is that it has a unique, pebbled sort of surface texture. It isn't rough, but that texture seems to allow it to channel the airflow in such a way that the falls land flat against the surface. I never notice the edges with buffalo floggers. Unfortunately, swinging a pair of buffalo floggers is heavy work, and most Tops are easily worn out by the sheer effort that it takes to use these implements.

Last, in our group of DeTails leather floggers, is the Latigo flogger. Latigo is a very heavily tanned cowhide that delivers a very intense sting with very little effort. Most often, latigo is used for the cinch on a saddle. It is stiff and hard, and when used in a flogger, it creates an outrageous cutting sort of sting and burn. Latigo can be pretty brutal -- a very high-end toy.

Our floggers don't come out very often these days. They take a lot of work and physical stamina. Of course, right now, while we are all wrapped up in our OTK phase, floggers are just not a practical choice. Still, sometimes, there is a flogging that happens, and that encounter with leather is almost always something that I appreciate.

swan

Summer Mornings

Our year divides into two parts.

There is the school year, when I am up at 5:30, and out of the house long before Master gets ready to leave. On those mornings, I make our breakfast, and I pack His lunch, and I hug Him and head out the door. Because His schedule is more flexible than mine, He most often doesn't have to be ready to leave until the middle of the morning. Once I am on the way, He is really pretty much on His own. Neither of us likes that part of our schedule, although there are a variety of pluses and benefits to my teaching career, and so we adjust.

Summertime is entirely a different matter. In the summer, His schedule is my schedule. Whatever His day involves, or requires, mine revolves around helping Him to be ready to go, and supporting His easy and calm launch out into the world. We usually are able to sleep later in the summer -- oh joy! When we get up, I generally fix His breakfast, and we chat about whatever each of us finds online or in email, or we talk over the reports on the morning news shows. Then I bring His razor, and toothbrush, and mirror, and He begins the process of getting ready to go. When He heads off to the shower, I start to assemble His clothes for the day. I put out the trousers and shirt that He requests, press anything that seems to need it, set out His shoes, make sure His sports coat is ready to go. Usually, I go through His extensive collection of ties, and pick out ones that I think might work for whatever He's wearing that day. I round up His keys and cell phone and knives and sunglasses. I fix His lunch, and pack up His computer. I schlepp everything to His car and get it loaded up for Him. Most days, unless it is raining, I open up the windows on His car so that it cools off before He needs to get in it.

By then, He's usually out of the shower, and so I help Him get dressed, handing Him whatever is needed next, and fetching anything that He might need. My big accomplishment this summer is that I've finally managed to figure out which way to thread His belt through His belt loops -- something my dyslexic brain simply would not grasp for years. When He's all dressed and ready to go, I braid His hair, refill His drink bottles, and walk Him out to the car. I stand on the driveway and wave Him on the way, blowing kisses.

Then I go back inside to tidy up, put away the ties He didn't choose to wear, and have a bit of breakfast myself. The "undefined" part of my schedule begins at that point, and continues until He comes home again. It is the time I spend writing, working on projects, preparing for next school year, shopping, doing laundry, etc.

swan

Two Months

This is just a quick moment. I am really trying not to "grandma" you all to death, but after all that "math teacher" stuff, I thought maybe you would enjoy seeing the love of my life now that he is two months old...

swan

Math Geek Talks Polyamory

It is summer time and that gives me all sorts of time to think things. Since I am inclined to be a bit of a math geek, it gives me an opportunity to poke around on the far edges of mathematical theory, and contemplate what any of that might mean in relationship to the more grounded realities of my daily existence. It is heady stuff, and probably not to the taste of everyone, but I like it. I will also acknowledge right from the start here, that I am not in anyway a professional mathematician, and so my understandings and interpretations of the mathematics here should be taken with a grain of salt.

Areas that I am curious about: fractal geometry, chaos theory, game theory, graph theory, and knot theory. Today, I'm sort of wading around in knot theory, and wondering how or if knot theory might apply to relationship dynamics, and polyamory. That's the broad outline of where I am heading with this, so feel free to bail out now before it gets really deep...

Most of what follows; a basic discussion of knot theory, is taken from the Mega-Math website (and I didn't do very much with it -- it is lifted almost verbatim). I like Mega-math for this kind of introduction because it is written for young students, and so pretty easily accessible:

The mathematical theory of knots originated in the 19th century, but has made major advances in the past decade. One of the most exciting developments has been the discovery of deep connections between knot theory and the branch of physics that studies the fundamental particles and forces that are the building blocks of the universe. It has also been found that DNA is sometimes knotted, and knots may play a role in molecular biology.

Mathematicians envision knots as closed loops or paths that you can trace round and round with your finger. It is as though the two free ends of tangled rope have been spliced together. When knots are drawn or represented on paper, the places where the rope crosses itself are shown as a broken line and a solid line. The intent is to show that the part of the rope represented by the broken line is passing under the part represented by the solid line.

Mathematicians ask many of the same questions about knots as they have asked about numbers. One of these questions is, "Are these two knots equal?" If one knot can be untangled, without cutting, to look like another knot, the two are considered to be equal. This is the concept of knot equivalence. When two knots seem to be very different, it could very well be that one is just an extra-twisted-up verstion of the other, and that one knot can be transformed into the other by twisting and turning, but without cutting the rope and actually unknotting it.

Knot theorists are still seeking a straightforward and general method for determining whether two knots are equivalent. This is the notion of topological equivalence, and it is a very powerful idea that plays many roles throughout mathematics. The major insight behind topology is that some geometric problems depend not on the exact shape of the objects involved, but rather on the way they are put together. For example, the square and the circle have many properties in common: they are both one dimensional objects, and both separate the plane into two parts, the part inside and the part outside.

You can "add" two knots together if you make a cut in each one, and, without unknotting, splice the ends together so that each end is joined to an end from the other knot. Knot addition shows us how two knots can be added together to make a more complex knot. If you begin with a knot, then take a second piece of rope and make a knot out of it that is woven into the first knot, the result is what mathematicians call a link. Also, you can take a braid that is made of three or four, or any number of strands, you can splice the ends in a variety of ways. You can turn it into a knot, or you can turn it into a link made of several intertwined knots.


If you have waded through all of that, then you must be wondering what possible connection any of that has to polyamory and relationships.


I think that creating relationships is like adding knots, or sometimes like creating knot links. If we perceive each member in a relationship as a unique knot, each with their own particular patterns and complexities, then we can envision that joining non-equivalent knots can change the level of complexity that each one is a part of. It isn't necessarily the case that adding knots creates MORE complexity although it can. In the right combinations, knots can become less twisted, and this might also be true of some relationship dynamics.


Consider the societal norm in relatedness, which is "coupledness." When you have two people in a relationship, each person only has one other person to keep in mind. Sort of. In reality, of course, that is almost never the case. People come with a variety of attachments -- extended families, work committments, friendships, histories. Most of us are pretty twisted knots of relatedness in and of ourselves. Anyone who has ever tried to live in extended and intimate relationship with another person, can attest to the complexity of the endeavor.


Of course, relational twistedness isn't a constant. If I'm feeling strong and healthy; if my work life is going smoothly; if I feel good about the path that my children's lives are following; if my aging parents are in secure situations; if my friendships are fulfilling and nurturing; then things don't feel all that challenging. When, however, any of those facets of my life start to wobble, my ability to maintain all the linkages gets strained, and that complicates my intimate relationship dynamics.


Then, consider the notion of relating polyamorously. There is, within the poly community, an ongoing discussion about the nature of "poly math." It revolves around the numbers of actual (versus apparent) relationships that come into being when we engage in intimate connectedness with more than one partner. In relationship with 2 people or 3 people or more, there are several overlapping and interlocking relationships all existing simultaneously. Between each pair or couple, there is a dyadic relationship, and then there are triadic and quadratic relationships. More relationships add layers.


In every relationship, each of us tends to be at least a slightly different person. We share different histories, different emotional valances, different intersts, different shared friends, different pet names. Remember all those unique and non-equivalent knots? One of the basic precepts of knot theory is that if two knots are not equal, no amount of twisting and manipulation will turn the knot into an "unknot." Partners, as we relate to them, will retain their unique characteristics. We can't treat all our relationships or all our partners alike. Even if we manage to twist them into similar configurations, they remain what they are and who they are.


Knot theory might give us some visual clues about those connections and those levels of complexity. Playing with knots, we could come to have a more definitive sense of the shibari-style connectedness that pulls us first one way and then another.

And that's where my mind has been wandering. And if that isn't enough for you, this site can take you through a discussion of graph theory and polyamory. WooHoo!


swan

Voice

We've been very consistent with our "walking regimen." It is really good for us physically and emotionally. We've gradually worked our way up to walking 4-1/4 miles a day. As it has gotten warmer and warmer this summer, we've taken to waiting until the sun goes down and walking in the twilight and into the darkness. The challenge is that there are some places along our route that are purely dark.


So, I went digging and found the headlamps that I bought about five years ago when Master and I travelled west and spent some time at Valley View Hot Springs. I don't think we ever used them on that trip, and they've sat on a shelf in the garage for years. They aren't very "sexy," and the technology is way out of date, but they do the job. Or at least, they did the job, until we dropped one on the pavement and broke it . Shortly after we broke that one, we also had the second one die due to battery issues, and so we finished the last lap in the dark. It was a little iffy but not awful. Of course, He had His eye on new ones, for sale in the Smoky Mountain Knife Works catalog for only $9.99, and He told me to order those. T wanted one too, so the next day, I went ahead and ordered three. They'll be here in a couple of days. In the meantime, we are down to only one lamp.



So, last night when we got ready to go walking, He asked me it I was going to go get the headlamp. I told Him I thought we'd done OK without it, and so maybe not. He looked at me and said, "Well if we don't need them, why did you order new ones?"

I was just a little flabbergasted. "Because You told me to," I replied. "Somehow, 'No Sir, I don't think we need any lamps' just didn't seem like the correct response. It never even occured to me to try to put that statement together in my head, let alone say it out loud."

It is the kind of story that revolves around a very sort of commonplace event in the course of our lives, but it got me thinking about what I do and don't say, and how. I remember, very clearly, in the early years of our relationship, that He and I would have periodic episodes that would end up with us furious with one another. Sometimes, in the heat of one of those confrontations, He'd leave. On other occasions, I'd take off in a blind rage/panic; usually walking just as fast as I could go; without any destination in mind; simply intent on getting away. It would seem reasonable to guess that such volcanic battles would be ABOUT something, but it was almost always the case that I'd say some relatively inconsequential thing that wasn't carefully phrased, or that just sounded wrong in His ears, and we'd be off to the races.

Eventually, I learned the "voice" that pleased Him; the sound that made things go smoothly. It really was a matter of trial and error; and careful observation. Learning, as I went along, what worked and what didn't.

There is a subset of the BDSM community where people focus on voice and speech patterns. There are all kinds of protocols for teaching a slave to speak in particular patterns and tones; in ways that are pleasing to the Dominant partner; and that serve to create a mindfulness. We've never engaged in that sort of formal practice, and yet it is the clear fact that, after so many years, there are ways of thinking and speaking that are simply not part of my repertoire with Master. We obviously did it without actually DOING it.

swan

Subspace

There's plenty of information available on the web about the phenomenon of subspace; how it occurs and what it feels like. For those who are curious, Google will net more reading material on the subject than you can imagine. And... until it happens to you personally, I don't think it is possible to fully understand or appreciate the experience.

I don't make it to subspace very often, and I quit trying to get there a long time ago. When it happens, it is a wonder, and I come away from the experience feeling grateful and completely awestruck. Saturday was one of those times...

We slept very late it the morning. It had been a wildly stormy night, and by the time all the lightning and thunder settled down, we'd had a less than restful night. So, it was nearly noon when He took me OTK, with a whole pile of implements pulled from the collection. He is still experimenting, figuring out what works and what doesn't work in that position. After the last time, I was more intrigued than frightened. I was still carrying the memory of the intense connection I experienced with Him the last time we tried this, and there was a part of me that was eager to get back to that place.


I don't know exactly which implement sent me into space this time. Something pretty intense and heavy, but it really doesn't matter. I always have the sense that I can "see" the edge approaching. It feels to me like falling into subspace is a bit like approaching the top of the first big hill on a roller coaster. I climb closer and closer and closer to the peak, and then, just as I come to the point of plunging down the drop, I launch into a darkness that is warm and soft and stunningly quiet.


Subspace happens in slow motion. Everything is still there; the sound of His voice; the impact of the paddles; the warmth of His touch. I've heard and read that subspace deadens the sensation; numbs the experience; allows a greater pain tolerance through a sort of dissociation, but I don't experience it that way. When I fall into subspace, I am enveloped in a sort of mental calm while every nerve is alive and every sensation is heightened so that each of my senses encounter the paddle strokes with openness and total fascination.
In subspace, paddle strokes have colors. Every impact sets off flashing bright fireworks that burst against the inky blackness. The pain washes over everything, and it has colors too; iridescent peacock blue, and amethyst, and the shining green of tree frogs. The sounds develop a sonorousness that they don't have in the everyday world -- my own breath thunders in and out of my body, punctuated by groans and grunts and whimpers. The tip of a knife rasps from skin cell to skin cell as if it were bouncing along a cobblestone path. His voice booms to me from the ceiling and the walls and the cushion beneath my cheek, and it is the most solid thing in the whole world. When I'm flying, every stroke sends energy surges through me; following the nerve paths, until my feet seem to lift up of their own accord, and the tips of my ears tingle and sparkle, and I feel my skin flush with a glow that is pure power.


One of the more intriguing features of subspace for me is the convening of a whole chatty committee of internal voices that seem to stand around and discuss the whole process. They babble on and on among themselves in a conversation that I recognize as "me," but since they seem to be talking ABOUT me, it is just odd: "Wow! That one must have really hurt... Of course, it hurt, dummy, its a paddle... Yeah, but its all sort of exciting, don't you think?... This is just weird, maybe we should be quiet... Nah, she doesn't care... Oooooh! That's a good one..." On and on the bunch of them go, and their burbling forms a sort of stream flowing over smooth stones backdrop curtain of sound.

Most of all, subspace is completely, utterly safe; anchored in His presence, and the sheer, powerful awareness of Him guiding and protecting me. I have long been convinced that I go to subspace if He allows it, and I believe there is some shared energy between us that fuels the launch off into that place.


If, in fact, all of that is simply an artifact of some sort of endorphin cocktail surging through my veins, then it may be, but if that is the case, it is a poor sort of science to take the heart out of such a fierce encounter with the self and the other.


swan

Anniversary: Swan's and my M/s: Cutting Day

Seven years ago tomorrow swan and I had a seminal moment in our lives. It was about a month and 3/4 after she had complied with my demand to leave her life and family in Denver and relocate to live next door to me in our shared home. She had come to feel that being my slave was not a new commitment that she was ready to undertake, but that her "belonging" to me as my slave was an expression of the reality of the relationship and energy between us. I wanted her very much as mine, and too felt that we had in fact been M/s for a significant time. I felt it was time to recognize our reality.

This culminated July 27, 2002 in my cutting my initials in her left shoulder. I can do no better describing this than this post from 2005 in which swan described her (and our) experience.

Key aspects of this experience which have been for us as much the key ritualization of our relationship, as much as the wedding of any man and woman has ever been, were the profound belief both of us experienced in that moment that her cutting was not something that I imposed on her flesh with a blade, but was the releasing of her essence from her soul. I did not mark her but released her essence to be evident on her skin.

I have thought about this mysterious dynamic the last couple of days as we approached this important commemoration. This has been a weekend of intense spankings. In line with our recent fascination with spanking in the over the knee position (otk), she has been mine for over the knee both Saturday morning and today. Yesterday (Saturday) she had one of the more intense and lasting spankings she has had for some time. It began with a good bit of hand spanking and sensual play interspersed with more intense spanking. As has been the case since we've rediscovered otk we used a number of implements we had not played with for a long time. We were not long through her spanking before it was clear she was "gone," into an altered consciousness state, far subspace. I then moved into very intense severity in terms of her spanking. We ended with 100 good smacks with the dread anniversary paddle. While she was clear that her bottom had undergone a huge amount of punishment during her spanking, she was flying and happy. We then had some wonderful love making (although brief...after being on the brink for so long I came in no time at all...she jokes that she always knew fucking a 16 year old was going to be like this:)

As we talked about this while we recovered swan described her internal experience which sounded classically hallucinogenic. She had seen colors, flashes, heard auditory hallucinations,
and perceived the "committee members of her personality" debating which were the appropriate ways to interpret her experiences. I had not imposed a spanking upon her. I had released her internal reality to be expressed in our external world.

Today's spanking didn't have the same "magic." She was very tender from all of yesterday's spanking. Even simple hand spanking had her writhing and ouching and the application of more intense implements even with good periods of sensual play interspersed, left her crying and pleading for it to end. She was a well spanked "little girl" by the time I held her before we headed back to our bed.

It is synchronicity that this experience has coincided with our seventh anniversary of the cutting.

swan, I love you and your being my slave. I love your belonging to me even more greatly because it is in the context of, and greatly added to, by the love we both have for my teresa as well.

Below is a picture of the cutting today. It plainly symbolizes my possession of swan today as it did in 2002 when it was fresh.

All the best,

Tom

Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you've imagined.

Bondage Furniture for Sale

We have two pieces of bondage furniture that we have decided to sell. They are both in good shape, and have had only minimal use. The biggest problem with them is that my tall frame just doesn't fit in or on them very well, and we'd like to find something that works better. To do that, we need to get these pieces out of our space. If you are within driving distance and can pick them up, we can arrange that. If we need to ship them to you, we'll expect that you would pay for the shipping.

We are offering these items here first. It feels better to us to perhaps have them go to someone that we know through the blog. If you are interested, drop an email to Himself (Raheretic@cs.com).

Kneeling Spanking Bench --

This is a padded, one of a kind, piece of furniture. Master originally paid $450.00 for it. When in use, the bottom, kneels on the floor and their head goes through the locking neck stock. There are restraints, or restraint points, for the knees and wrists. The neck closure has a lock, and a head strap helps to support the neck once in position. This item is small enough to be stored out of sight in a standard size closet. Asking price: $250.00

Stocks --

These are used with the bottom standing in a bent over position. I originally purchased them as a gift for Master and paid $495.00. There are moveable openings for the ankles as well as for the head and wrists. It all locks with cotter pins. Asking price: $350.00

swan

Fetlife Follies

I actually put this up as a comment on a post that my friend, morningstar, wrote. She was fussing about the frustrations of dealing with the critters that one finds everyplace at the site... It really can seem that every thread devolves into the most insanely stupid, foolish, mean-spirited nonsense imaginable. While participation there can give a person plenty of food for thought, the downside is that it can be emotionally draining and spiritually deadening...

I am finding, on this my second foray into the realm of Fetlife, that it is good practice for me. I am trying to be mindful in my participation there. So, I read where my interest takes me, but I comment with some guidelines in mind:

I only comment if I believe I have something useful or important to contribute.

I work to write my responses so that they are respectful and without overt judgement. If I can't manage that, I just don't start.

I say what I have to say, and then I shut up. I resist the urge to get dragged into wrangles or to explain myself or try and convince anyone that I am right.

If someone says something that causes me to go "WTF? Is this person really this stupid?" I take that as a signal that it is a place that is not healthy for me to be.

Lastly, if the convesation is already into the 3rd, 4th, or 5th page of comments, I assume that there is nothing that I can add that hasn't been said already, and so I refrain.

There.

My "rules" for participating in Fetlife without losing my mind.

swan

What Made You Tell Me That?

Technology can be a grand thing. Recently, I've joined all the "young folks" in the whole world and signed up on Facebook. It is, for me, a great way to stay in touch with my children and family members. What I never expected, and didn't anticipate, is that Facebook is also a gateway to reconnecting with friends from my past -- some of them from my far, distant past.



Doing that -- reconnecting -- is an interesting undertaking. People that I've been out of touch with for years and decades knew me when my life, and my presentation in the world was very different. They knew me as a young mother; as a dedicated wife; as a professional and career business woman. People who were friends when I was in my 20s and 30s knew me to be pretty straight-laced. I may have espoused some pretty liberal political views, but if you looked at me, I was living the life that we were all told was our aspiration: husband, home, kids, job...



So, when I start a conversation with a person from my past (and I've done that a couple of times in the last couple of weeks), there is a giant gap to bridge. One thing I've discovered in these last few years is that there is no "gentle" way to broach the subject of my lifestyle with a potential friend. If you don't already know about it, probably because you met me through this blog, then the news is likely to come as a surprise, at the very least. My experience has been that it isn't usually a welcome surprise.



In the last year or so, I've gotten into a routine of simply telling people the plain truth in the very early stages of saying, "Oh my gosh! It is so neat to find you again!" It is a little tricky, to be sure. Most of these conversations devolve very quickly to an exposition of what has changed in the conventional sense -- marriages, kids and careers, and the latest vacation trip. That makes it sort of complicated to just casually drop in the news that I am living as a polyamorous, BDSM slave and masochist. Oh yeah, and I've been coloring my hair for years, too...



I think I can pretty well predict what sort of response I am likely to get. It is always possible that people are going to be way more open-minded than they were back when we were all much younger, but the reality is that it is rare for people to get more liberal in their thinking as they age. Most often people's views have narrowed, and there are plenty of my former acquaintances who have gotten apallingly conservative over the intervening years.



So, the question becomes (and one old friend actually asked exactly this): "Why did you tell me that after just a couple of email messages?"



The most important reason for telling the truth, in the very beginning is that it is important to me, if I am going to invest in building relationship with someone, to create a space that is honest. For me, BDSM isn't just something that is "sex," although there is surely that component to it. It weaves through most of my life, so if I'm going to have any sort of real relationship, it does necessitate that there be some awareness of that facet of my life. I spend so much of my life in hiding (I teach in a Catholic school for pity's sake) that when I form friendships my preference is that I not have to do that. I've found that it doesn't get easier to tell people about my life "later." If I get into talking with someone and then spring that information about myself on them after some months, it generally just pisses them off. Easier to just get it out in the open up front. Then people can make their own choice about whether to talk with me or not...



swan

Not Gonna!

Hot flashes...

Night sweats...Nightmares...

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

That has been my story for the last couple of nights. I haven't slept well as a result of my seemingly unpredictable bouts of "old lady" hormonal issues.

Now for those of you who just delight in jumping in to let me know that I'm not for real; a poser; or just a flat out BAD slave, this is your chance. Because, this morning at 6:30, when we woke up to a steady downpour, and He declared that He was going to walk on the treadmill (instead of our usual trek through the neighborhood), I was more than happy to wave without even opening my eyes. I think He might have said, "I'm going to go use the treadmill, you just sleep," but who knows?

I did get up and fix His breakfast when He was done. I did do all the usual things that I do to get Him sent on His way to work. Later, when the rain stopped for a short interval, I even got myself out and did my own walk time.

But no, I did not even feel guilty about rolling over and trying to catch a few more Zzzzzz's at 6:30 AM.

swan

Inspiration and Questioning

Maybe other bloggers run into the same thing I do... it is a sort of writer's block with a twist (imagine that -- a twist right here in the heart of twistedness). The broad outlines of my "what to write next" problem seem to go like this: In the summertime, I have much more "free" time, and you would think that would cause way more (and possibly way better) writing to occur here -- but in the summertime, there is hardly anything happening from day to day. I get up with Master, help get Him ready to go off to work, and then occupy my time with whatever project I am focused on at the moment. Life gets more "full" once school starts, but then there's little time or energy to write. Usually, during the school year, if I can think of things to write, I "stack" up pre-written posts over the weekend, and schedule them to happen throughout the week.


In December, it will be five years since I started writing in this format. Sometimes I wonder what there is still to say... Then I stumbled over this interesting site. I was intrigued at first because it reminded me of my son in his early adolescent and pre-adolescent years. He was a huge Garfield fan. Garfield Minus Garfield is a site dedicated to removing Garfield from the comic strips in order to reveal the existential angst of Jon Arbuckle. Without the Garfield character, the strips take on an entirely different, sort of disturbing quality. I like this one... It seems to speak to the essential, and often unspoken, question of those of us who blog...

Exactly! I am continually surprised that so many continue to listen to me ramble on and on about this and that; the "that is how I spent my day" stuff that is the bones of this place. What is it, I wonder, that keeps people coming here? What is it that people get from this? What is so worthwhile that people are willing to invest the time and the energy? Things to wonder about on a lazy day in the middle of the summer...

swan

Up Close

Probably, my new fascination with OTK spanking is going to drive some people just batty. I understand, but I just can't help it...

I never thought much about the whole sub-set of spanking behavior that is associated with the over the knee position. It just hasn't been part of my experience, and if we don't do it, then I don't pay much attention to it. Then, I got started thinking about it with the arrival of our new sofa, and that fantasizing has opened up a whole new realm of experimentation for us.

This afternoon, I was busy working on some material I am preparing for the upcoming school year. He'd been working on some things for meetings that He has coming up over the next few days. I was pretty intensely wrapped up in my stuff, and I didn't notice what He was doing -- until He came and took my hand; pulling me to the sofa. He'd gathered up a handful of toys, and He was intent on having me over His knee.

I slipped out of my shorts; out of my panties, and got myself laid across His lap. My butt was still tender from the session we had yesterday, but He started off pretty gently with His hand, and I was feeling "into" it. I was a little amazed that He'd started this in the middle of the afternoon, but it seemed like it was fun and close and good.

One of the things that probably seems obvious, but is a revelation for me, is that over the knee spanking requires a different set of implements than other kinds of spanking that we engage in. He used a very short rubber chainmail paddle that I've always called the cheese grater. He used an almost flat, and fairly heavy wooden spoon that we bought years ago at a festival. He used a leather strap. Of course, He used the Anniversary paddle... There was lots of stroking and carressing and rubbing -- all good.

My experience is that, usually in a session, as things get more and more intense, I get more and more engaged in my own space and my own personal battle with the conflicting emotions. If I feel frightened, or angry, or sad; those feelings are in opposition to my desire to submit, to stay, to please Him with my obedience. Always, that internal wrestling feels lonely. I always believe that I am "on my own" to make that work; make it happen. I win or lose the war by myself -- it isn't a place where I usually feel Him close to me.

But today was different. As the session today grew more and more intense, I found myself melting into Him. I was overwhelmed by my awareness of the contact between the two of us -- my belly pressed against His legs, and my hip wedged into His waist. Somehow, it never ever occured to me that being over His knee would be so physically intense, so immediate, so utterly intimate. Up close; melted into Him; feeling the blows He was raining down on my butt, intertwined with His caresses -- it became an entirely different sort of experience, and one that I never expected. I am just amazed!

swan

Steps in Service

Our lives have come to revolve around weight loss. We choose our foods very carefully, with deliberate intent. We track the pounds and half pounds. And -- perhaps the most significant change; He has become dedicated to a daily exercise regimen.

When Master first had His bariatric surgery, the idea of exercising seemed completely beyond reach. His knees would barely support His weight. His legs hurt just from the stress of standing. His spine, ridden with spinal stenosis, was becoming more and more weak and stiff and painful. There were many days when just getting from the bed, or the chair to the bathroom was an ordeal...

Today, He is a regular walker. I am His walking partner. We walk 4 miles a day in a figure-eight loop around our condominium complex. Currently, we are setting a pace that allows us to complete a mile in 18 minutes and 23 seconds (give or take a little).

There are a huge number of possibilities when one contemplates "service" in a power-based dynamic. Some are more obviously BDSM-y in nature. For us, for Him, right now -- there is probably nothing that is more important than the simple act of my walking at His side.

swan

OMG! Look at all this Blood!

We woke up slowly this morning -- one of the great joys of the slower paced days of summer. There was lots of snuggling and lots of stroking and lots of hugging. After awhile, He flipped me over, and began to smack my ass. That was good, too. Very good. He got up from the bed and wandered over to the toy rack. I heard Him picking out toys, and I was just happy to float along and enjoy the place where I was... I don't get into that "happy space" all that often.

He came back to the bed, and started to play with me: a fairly low intensity, leather slapper/strap, and then a quirt that has come back to light with the new organization of the toys. It is a pretty unique piece with a handle woven of some white, very tough sinew type material. He was really happy to have found it again, and enjoying the heck out of laying pretty red whip marks all over my ass. For my part, I was inside my own head, tracing the sensations across my skin, feeling sort of quiet and enthralled by the whole business...

When all of a sudden, He stopped, and I heard Him exclaim, "Oh my god! Where is all this blood coming from?"

B l o o d? B l o o d! My brain was just not getting to it very fast. It was sort of like slogging through a vat of jell-o. It is a bit of a haul back in from the happy place. Blood? Blood? How can there be blood -- He didn't hit me that hard. Blood?

And then I came up to the surface and looked at Him, and it got very clear very fast that the blood that was all over the handle of the quirt, and sprayed across the bed sheets, and trickling down His belly -- the blood was flowing at a fairly scary rate from the surgical scarline on His stomach. And then I was completely and fully out of the happy place and fully in the world.

I grabbed some surgical sponges and some an abdominal pad and some tape, and dressed the incision site. We grabbed the phone and called the surgeon's office -- or tried to. At 9:24 in the morning, the doctor's office phone told us that they were closed and gave us a number to call for the backup doctor. That office put us on hold for what seemed like forever, and then took probably 15 minutes or so to get around to saying -- just go straight to your surgeon's office and they will see you when you get there. When Master told them that He'd called the surgeon's office first and been told they were closed, the person on the phone said," well I just talked to them and they are seeing patients." Oh good grief!

And by this time, He'd bled through His first dressing, so I cleaned Him up again and redressed it and grabbed a towel to sop up whatever leaked. We got dressed, and headed for the doctor's office. He wasn't in pain, but kept saying He was feeling kind of crummy. It takes fucking forever to drive to the doctor's office!

Finally, we got there, and He eventually managed to get the total idiot at the front desk to understand what it was that was going on and what He needed. "Just have a seat, and Doctor K will be with you in a few minutes.

Well... it was longer than "a few minutes," but we did eventually see the good doctor. He poked and peered and hemmed and hawed -- and then decided that it was nothing particularly serious... maybe a "pocket in the scar tissue that ulcerated and broke through to the skin and bled." He questioned us very closely about whether there was anything about the bleeding in terms of smell or appearance to indicate that this might be more than superficial, and that was definitiely not an issue. So, the doctor told us that if it happened again, we should just put pressure on it, bandage it, and see him again in a couple of weeks... Master has an appointment at the end of the month (already scheduled), and they'll check it again at that point.

So, we came back home, and had breakfast, and went on with the day -- but DANG!!! A perfectly lovely start blown away in a spatter of blood. Bummed me out... Master too.

swan

Mean, Rotten, Eye Doctor

I have the strangest eyes. I am, in the world of serious eye ailments, relatively young. Yet, I had surgery to remove cataracts about 5 years ago, and on Thursday, I received a diagnosis of Normal Tension Glaucoma. In fact, the eye doctor who did my cataracts has been tracking me ever since, and treating me for glaucoma even though my intraocular pressures have been well within the normal range. I've been using a beta-blocker eyedrop to help lower my pressures for a very long time, and my eye doctor sees me quarterly to check on the status of my lens implants, and monitor the pressures in my eyes.

I absolutely love the guy. He is kind and thorough and careful to explain everything he does and everything that is going on with me. I trust his skills and his judgement.

When I saw him in the spring, he expressed concern that things had changed slightly in terms of my visual field test results, and that, while my pressures remained in the normal range, they had increased over the last couple of appointments. He wanted me to consult with a "glaucoma specialist" on their staff, and so I made an appointment with the doctor he recommended.

The "glaucoma specialist" is probably good in terms of knowing his stuff, but I came out of the appointment with him feeling hurt and angry and extremely unhappy about the prospect of having to deal with him into the future. He seemed to be unnecessarily rough and ham-handed in his examination of me. Excuse me Mr. Doctor Guy, but if you need to put a lens on the surface of my eyeball, would it be too much to ask that you do that gently, and without that interesting grinding motion? My masochism does not extend to eye play. Oh, and another thing -- could you maybe talk to me; explain what you are doing and thinking; tell me what it all means and what I should expect? If I express concerns or ask questions about the treatment you are prescribing, it is because I want to know what is happening to MY eye.

I just do not care about how good looking you are. I am not impressed by your athletic physique or your perfect smile. I want to know that you are a talented and capable physician, but if you are not able to see past the "eyeball," I am just not going to feel good about dealing with you.

Then, as I looked into the new eyedrops that were prescribed by the mean, rotten, eye doctor, the list of side effects was pretty scary. The longer I thought about it, and the further I looked, the worse I felt. The fact that the doctor had just waved off my questions and concerns while I was in his office, began to loom large in my mind, and I got increasingly frustrated and panicked. Finally, in tears, I told Master how upset I was over the whole business -- how frightened I was about taking this new medication, and how unhappy I was at the prospect of dealing with this guy for the rest of my life. Eventually, at His encouragement, I called and talked to my original (good) eye doc, and discussed it all with him. He was very patient and reassured me that the medication that had been prescribed was well tolerated and has a good track record in terms of dealing with my kind of glaucoma. He and I talked about perhaps seeing a different glaucoma doctor if the next appointment doesn't go any better and he was very supportive of that possibility. I felt calmer by the time I hung up from him, and feel as if I can deal with this one way or another.

For now, I'll use the eyedrops and work to do my part to treat this illness. I'll deal with the mean, rotten eye doctor when I see him next, and then we'll see where this goes from there.

swan

Are You Not Allowed?

I grew up the oldest of a family of four children. I had three younger brothers -- Hank, Gregg, and Kurt. Kurt, the youngest of us all, was born when I was 10 years old. Ours was a complicated relationship; more parent/child than siblings. As adults, we've never managed to create any sort of connection beyond "strained."



In truth, I haven't talked to Kurt for nearly nine years. Then, this last weekend, he came roaring out of oblivion. Late Sunday evening, I received a string of emails from him expressing extreme outrage about the estrangement between myself and my mother. It was pretty darned nasty and accusatory. The details are not really important, and while I was caught off guard by his sudden salvo, it really doesn't change a thing. There was surely nothing in his correspondence that looked like a "conversation starter" to me.



There was one piece of what he wrote though that got me to thinking ...

"...Would it kill you to give her a phone call maybe once a month or are you not allowed?"

Interesting. To say the least. I admit that I am just a bit curious about where that particular question comes from. As far as I know, there is no direct way that Kurt would have any knowledge of our dynamic, so that question seems odd. However, as I've thought about it, I find myself answering it in my head.

First of all, I want to make it very clear that Master has never made any move to control or interfere in my relationships with the members of my family. He has, of course, been privy to all the machinations of the bunch of them, and He has some very sincerely felt views on how they behave with regard to me, but He's kept a hands off stance with regard to my dealings with them all. I could, if I chose to do it, phone my mother and/or brothers at any time and there would never be any question about it.



But that's just the surface of that notion of "allowed." At a much more significant level, there is the very clear understanding and expectation that I am not "allowed to" do anything that is harmful to me either emotionally or physically. I am expected to "take care of His property." He has no tolerance at all for me acting or choosing in ways that diminish my well-being.



So, am I "allowed to" maintain relationships with members of my family who are mean, abusive, uncaring, deceitful, self-centered? I think that the answer to that question has to do with how such contact impacts me. If I could simply phone my mother, spend a few minutes in conversation with her, hang up and go on without getting all tangled up in the nastiness she unloads with, then I imagine that I would absolutely be "allowed" and even encouraged to do that. But, I remain tender and fragile with regard to her attacks. She hurts me and upsets me and makes me miserable. I can't seem to just let it all roll of my back. There's too much history. So, given that, I guess the honest answer to the question from my baby brother is -- "No. I am not allowed."



swan

Life Is Short: Eat Dessert First:)

Today was different. Weekend mornings have come to have a pattern for us. I spank swan and then we make love. For a while the spankings have been pretty well scripted and each has been a replication of the other, in terms of the implements used, their sequence, and even (generally) the number of blows with each one. They have generally lead her to be quite "spanked" feeling and, more often than not, less that overjoyed and fulfilled. They have been followed after some recuperation, with her sitting astride me, and riding me until I came. We usually "looked forward" to these, although each of us differently. While I am self-centered enough to enjoy the sadistic thrill of spanking her when she is totally distressed by the experience, and thus not at all "turned on" as a result. I would be happier if she had had a more fulfilling experience. Swan wrote in her post "Step by Step" about the typical wrestling in her mind that she went through on weekend mornings as these "typical" sessions approached.

"Step by Step" described a "break through session" where we changed her position and my technique. She reacted with greater satisfaction. Then in "Unreliable Masochism" she detailed that replicating the "script" of the "Step By Step" session didn't have the same results.

Today was different again. I awakened to my usual internal movie scripts of blisterings I was fantasizing administering. This morning's centered around my engaging in a serious aversive disciplinary intervention with a nameless disciplinee who was sentenced to receive several sessions of single tail whippings and padding's to assure she never repeated a seriously self-injurious behavior. Thus, I had imagined being more severe with swan this morning and was thinking quite seriously of giving her a single tail whipping while she bent over the end of the couch as part of this morning's session. I've thought about how wonderfully she'd be positioned for the short bullwhip there, and have told her that I will eventually whip her in that position. I know that sends shudders through her. We have not played with the single tails all that frequently and she is seriously freaked out by actual whippings. All this fantasizing had me extremely turned on. In that we were in bed, and the location of our SM play has come to be over the end of the new couch in the living room, it occurred to me that sex could precede our session. There was not a rule that said that SM play must serve as fore-play. We fucked quite happily, snuggled for a while and then moved to the living room. The result was interesting. Having already ejaculated my usual sadistic fervor, my "meanness", was greatly diminished. I was able to focus way more on her support and sensation than often I find energy for.

I gathered toys and included an old leather strap that swan brought with her from Denver that we had not used for years (a result of the new storage arrangement swan described in her post "Summer Project"). I also grabbed a quirt that was made by DeTails Toys, my flogger maker of choice, which too I had not used in a while. Too, I picked up the kangaroo-hide flogger, made by Snakepit Leather Works, which is a fairly high-end favorite of swan. Another addition to the toys for this morning was the fur paddle which is fur on one side and a very intense leather paddle on the other. This too usually only makes it into the repertoire when we play in a dungeon, and t, selecting toys from the toy bag, adds the fur paddle to the "stuff" used, in the interest of supporting her sister heart. Included along with these was the wenge cane, short clear lexan paddle, dressage whip, and of course, the paddle swan gave me for our anniversary which thrills me and leaves her in continual terror. Of course too, I had, as always, some knives for sensual play.

As we played I was much more patient than I usually am, and did in fact work the fur side of the fur paddle into play (as well as the leather side of course.) I think the leather strap while stingy is not nearly so much as some implements we use. swan has always been curiously drawn to the dressage whip, and tends to eroticize it. It lends itself to light sensual play and rapid fire light stinging licks as well as to more serious flogging and so it was used today. I included lots of hand spanking and knife play all over her, with , of course, lots of attention to her "cutting." Retracing the cutting always is hugely stimulating and evocative for her and goes a long way to getting her in "slave space."

The wenge cane, at least as I've used it with her, lends itself to fairly light thuddy strokes. I don't feel comfortable with forceful blows with it. It would be too club-like and exceeds the proverbial "rule of thumb":) She appreciates the uniqueness of the sensation it creates. It is so very different than all our other rod-like toys which are very whippy and extremely "stingy."

The mixture of implements, slower pace, more attention to sensually pleasurable or mild sensations as well as sting, sent her off. By the time I came to use the quirt she was pretty well in space. This particular quirt has falls (i. e., tails) which are broader and heavier leather than is typical for quirts. Quirts typically have narrow leather strands which are highly stinging and welting. As I applied it for a good while her bottom became bright red and she was clearly not at all troubled by her sensation. She was "gone.":)

I had to see if she was open to penetration and entered her vagina from the rear. Sometimes, since her hysterectomy, this works for her, and others not. Today she was "there." She writhed and cried, and breathed erratically, and orgasmed. Her orgasms have become so precious to us now, that they are no longer the foregone conclusion that they were before her surgery a few years ago. I was thrilled. (No doubt she was "intrigued" as well.)

I finished with serious paddling...65 well laid on smacks with the "anniversary paddle" that had her squirming but not suffering nearly so much as when we launch into a paddling with limited prior sensation activity.

I have grown old and sentimental and soft. When we were new I blistered swan daily. I enjoyed her suffering and worried not at all if she enjoyed it. Of course I knew she did enjoy my severity and her extreme SM submission to me. There was frequent subspace and orgasms as she very masochistically thrilled sexually and romantically at our SM power exchange. Of course I was younger then than she is now despite the six years age disparity between us. I had both my knees as original equipment. Now with one knee replaced and the other in serious need of replacement, and a shoulder that equally requires replacement, and recuperating from gastric by pass surgery, and with a huge abdominal hernia things are not the same for me. You know what, post hysterectomy, and menopausal, things aren't the same for her either. We are adjusting in so many ways and our play........our play which bonds us and connects us at such phenomenally deep levels.........our play where at times like today we touch each others' souls, too is being adjusted. I only hope that my learning curve is not so slightly sloped that she is able to hold on as I get there. I am hugely invested that I am never a service Top, and assuredly my catering to her needs has some characteristics of that. On the other hand she never would have ordered up the 65 with the anniversary paddle we finished off with today, were she orchestrating our scene.

So I had my usual weekend morning dessert first today and it was hugely delicious and likely a juxtaposition of our practice that I will repeat......for us both.

All the best,

Tom

P. S. I have not shared this with swan, and have asked her to write about this morning from her perspective. It will be interesting to see how she describes her experience in comparison to mine. Her version of all of this will appear directly below this one, so keep reading if you are interested...

Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you've imagined.

Go

Session on a Sunday Morning

Putting myself into His hands is the essential elemental activity of my life and our relationship, and it never seems to me to be the same thing twice. For us, although it is true that our lives are full of day to day, mundane details and chores and obligations, the place where we come together and express ourselves to one another and with one another is in our sadomasochistic play together. I don't perceive that doing that is as fraught with energy and emotions for Him as it seems to be for me. It looks to me like He does what He does, and it pleases and excites Him, and that's really it. He doesn't spend a lot of time anticipating it, and I doubt very much that He really spends much energy in deconstructing it from every conceivable angle. I am the one who does that. For me, every single encounter stirs the depths and brings up whatever is there.



We didn't play yesterday (Saturday), and it made perfect sense to me. I understood, when we woke up, that neither of us was feeling like it physically, and I was content to let the day start off as it did and simply let it go. We ate and we walked, and it was pleasant and companionable. He chatted with the latest "prospect" (at my urging), and then shared the contents of that chat with me. I took note of my inner sense of calm about that, and gave myself a mental pat on the back. Mostly, we relaxed together and simply enjoyed the day. Somehow, though, as the day wore on into evening, I began to feel disgruntled and out of sorts. I was just fussy inside my own mind, and couldn't find anything that felt good or calming or satisfying. I didn't see that bit of emotional storminess coming, and I didn't understand what was driving it. It did seem that, by the time we headed off to bed, it had lightened, and I was feeling more level. Shrug.



This morning, it was clear from the moment He began to awaken, that He was inclined to spank and fuck. Not an unusual circumstance on weekend mornings. What was unusual was that Saturday had gone by without any move in that direction...



There was nothing unusual at the outset. It is common for Him to pull me in close and wrap me up in a bear hug, and "hump" away at me for awhile. Most often, He does that before He is even fully awake, and I've learned over the years that it is best for me to simply stay quiet and still and do my very best "teddy bear" impression. I think that that snugly, cuddly, humpy time is time that He often spends dreaming/fantasizing His way into whatever it turns out that He wants to do with me eventually, and it doesn't help to have me squirming and/or jabbering away at Him. So, I just curl into Him, and doze and dream and enjoy the softness and formlessness of that space.



This morning, lying there, I noticed that I was feeling emotionally fragile. Weepy. Shaky. Overwhelmed. I didn't have any sort of coherent explanation for the wash of emotions; I only knew that the tide was rising, and I was being swept along in spite of myself. On top of all of that, He was being particularly good to me, this morning, stroking me in a way that was calculated to generate sexual heat and excitement. Tossed into the emotional stew, all of that intimate gentleness just turned me to a heap of quivering mush.



That was when He decided that He'd like to make love first, and then play. That is a complete reversal of our usual pattern. He worried that I wasn't turned on, but I was happy enough to oblige Him and climbed on board. One of the great benefits to His remarkable weight loss is a huge surge in virility and responsiveness. It wasn't long before He was moaning happily in the throes of orgasm. It was clear that I wasn't going to manage a similar trick, and so that got added into the emotional flood in which I was trying to swim.



We stayed cuddled together for a bit, and then He was ready to spank. He asked me if I wanted to be spanked -- not something that happens very often, and I simply did not know. My head and my reactions were just all over the place, and I didn't want Him to leave me alone, but I was unsure of my capacity to get through a spanking. I didn't want to fail Him, or disappoint Him. I knew what He wanted. There was no way I was going to say, "No," but I couldn't do anything but hang on to Him and shake and sob.



It didn't take long for Him to make the decision, and send me off to get ready over the arm of the sofa. I could hear Him wandering around, collecting toys, and I tried desperately to get my head into the place where I would be able to do what I needed to do. I just kept shaking and the tears just seemed to flow from some reservoir all their own.



He started out asking me if I were going to by "His today," and I told Him, in a tiny, wobbly voice, "Always, Sir."



The session that He took me through was full of a whole range of sensations -- the sharp and biting edge of the knife, the smack of the wenge cane, the alternating slap and then plush softness of the bunny fur paddle, the bite of a quirt, the sharp burn that the falls of the kangaroo-hide cat create, the insistent pushing pleasure of His fingers invading my sex, and the raw thudding smack of the paddle. I cried, and wailed, and shook, and shuddered. I wallowed in my emotional sogginess... and then, as things progressed, I somehow found myself following Him in the dance He was creating. The little, shaky, worried voice slowly quieted. The muttering just sort of ebbed away in my mind, and there was nothing there but the strokes He was landing on my butt and my back; nothing but the sharp lines He was drawing up and down my body with His knife; nothing but the overwhelming desire to somehow get closer to Him so that I could wrap around Him and hug Him, nothing but the consuming sense of amazement and gratitude as He coaxed the orgasm from my reluctant sex... In the end, all the turmoil that had preceded it was banished, and I was floating along to the music He brought out of my bare flesh.



He finished. I thanked Him. We staggered together back to snuggle for a bit before finally giving in to the need to take on the day.



swan

Who is the "Top Chicken?"

Maybe it is just that, as a school teacher on summer break, I have more time to sit and think, but I am sure that in the last couple of weeks I have observed a number of instances where people who are nominally on the "small-s" side of power-based relationships express their views in a fashion that works to put them "up" compared to whoever they are engaged with in conversation. I saw it go down that way just a few days ago in the comment section of another blog. There is at least one Fetlife discussion where one "slave" is after someone else who doesn't do it "right."

I try not to get into these things. Generally when someone sounds off and displays arrogance, pride, conceit, or condescension, I figure that the conversation is over. I'm not inclined to get into a mud wrestling thing with someone who is "just ate up" (as T would put it).

I do wonder though if this particular move is actually an artifact of the power exchange dynamic itself? I wonder if, for some people, giving up power and control is so unsettling and so uncomfortable that the compensatory move is to attempt to gain some perceived "power" or position over someone else; a sort of playground bully response to feeling insecure and unsure.

If we were all chickens, I imagine it would be described as a scramble to establish where everyone stands in the "pecking order." Pecking order is a hierarchical system of social organization in animals. The basic concept behind the establishment of the pecking order is that it is necessary to determine who is the 'top chicken,' the 'bottom chicken' and where all the rest fit in between.

And that causes me to consider the question, "If someone claims to have relinquished the control to their Master/Dominant/HOH, but then turns around and 'Lords it Over' some other unsuspecting and non-consenting person, can they really claim to have entered honestly into their power-based relationship at all?" What does it say about the control that is in place in a person's life when they are running amok, putting the arm on everyone they can find? If that control doesn't extend to one's conduct in the larger world; if it ends at the front door (or the keyboard); if it is OK to behave like a total bitch outside the immediate gaze of the "Top" partner, then what is that? It makes me think that they are just pretenders -- playing at this whole business because it is what all the kewl kids are doing. Makes me want to smack somebody.

swan

We Got "Stood Up"

We had thought that we'd have guests for dinner last evening. We'd made invitations. Two. Invitations.

In both cases, these were people that we've not met in person before.

One was a young man that I met through a Fetlife group. He seemed interested in meeting people with experience in the lifestyle, and we'd discussed meeting for dinner and conversation. We always leave the door open for whatever might come out of these meetings, but there is never any expectation on our part beyond what people might choose for themselves and be comfortable with.

The other potential guest was a young woman that Master had made contact with. I don't know any details about their conversations, but He told me that she was a recent college graduate with only a little bit of lifestyle experience. I believe that, when He invited her, He left the invitation open to include any partner she might have wanted to bring with her.

Truthfully, we really didn't expect either to show since we'd heard nothing at all from either one of them in the days leading up to our planned dinner. Still, until the evening had arrived and passed, we were not at all sure.

It makes me wonder what happened, and it makes me speculate on the causes.

It could be simple rudeness, but I find it hard to convince myself of that possibility. I never had any contact with the young woman, but the young man seemed civilized enough. Surely, he did not appear to be the sort of "badly brought up" young person who would make a dinner date, and then not bother to show up or even send a note...

Maybe it is some nicety of social interaction that simply escapes me. I wonder if there is something to social interaction in these days of Facebook and Twitter and texting and all the rest that is simply different than what made sense in the world where I grew up. Perhaps these young folks are operating from a different "rule book" than the one that I understand.

Or perhaps it was just the pure size of the gap between our disparate ages. After all, we are all well into our 50s and 60s, and these young folks are in their 20s, even their early 20s. The fact of the matter is that, except for the youngest of the children that belong to our family, all of our own "kids" are older than either of these two. And who could blame such youth for choosing not to spend their valuable time with people old enough to be their parents -- perhaps even old enough to be their grandparents.

It makes a kind of sense.

But, then, if you had made a dinner date with your grandparents, and you could not make it for whatever reason, would you not call? Really?

swan

Summer Project -- The Toys

I think this is a great "magazine rack." It is metal mesh and has 12 "pockets." You can buy it from The Container Store.

We don't have that many magazines to organize...

But...

We have toys; so many toys... Figuring out a reasonable way to store paddles and straps and floggers and quirts in a way that keeps them all safe and accessible has been a challenge. It isn't like we have the sort of collection that fits into a dresser drawer or the drawer of a night stand.

This is the paddle collection ...

And here's the collection of floggers, quirts, and straps...

We also have canes and things that are "like" canes...

And we've got whips, which we usually keep hanging over some hooks on the door to our bedroom...

Closet space is limited in our homes. There is barely sufficient closet space to store clothes, let alone toys. We've tried keeping our toys in toybags, and then in an armoire, and we've tried using a dorm-style trunk. Each of those approaches has had some positives, but they have all had their drawbacks as well, and we always end up trying to keep the toys that we use on a regular basis stacked in baskets on the bookcase headboard of our bed. Doing that, He is forever digging for whatever it is that He needs or wants, and things sometimes fall out and threaten whoever is lying there with possible concussion. And toys just take up so darn much room. What to do???

That's been the problem, and I have been determined to find a solution. One of the things that I've thought for awhile is that we have a collection that is not merely "mean," it is also loaded with pieces that are attractive and even artistic. I have long wanted them to be on "display." So, I've thought and thought and thought about what to do. It is summer, and I have time for all kinds of interesting projects.

In the end, the solution presented itself... I was given a gift card for The Container Store. The gift made it very affordable to purchase two of those great magazine racks, and here is the outcome of my latest summer project...

I'm really happy with that!

The canes and whips do not fit into the racks, but all the straps, paddles, floggers, and qurits fit just fine! I still think that the canes need something like an umbrella stand, and the whips remain hanging on the hooks on the bedroom door.

Of course, with all those toys out in plain sight like that, the inclination to play is, I think, boosted significantly. We'll just have to see...

swan

swan